In the Shadow of the Arch

by Robert J. Randisi

  He went around to the other side and found, among other items, condoms in the top drawer. The brand was Ramses. It was a box of twelve and there were five left. Also of interest was an empty holster, no gun, and no shells to indicate what caliber it might have been. From the shape of the holster, though, it was probably a pistol, not an automatic.

  He walked to the master bedroom and reminded himself to look for another bathroom, probably down the hall. The tub and sink were clean and dry. He opened the medicine cabinet and didn't find anything out of the ordinary. The family apparently favored both Tylenol and Advil. There were also some children's liquid aspirin.

  There was a can of Vanilla Essence air freshener on the toilet tank and an odd contraption in a holder on the wall that looked like an electric toothbrush. On the counter around the sink was one container of toothpaste, one plastic cup, and two toothbrushes. The area under the sink was open. There were several plastic baskets under there, almost like laundry baskets, but smaller, filled with items like hair rollers, pins, and a hair dryer, implements designed for the care of hair and nails, as well as some makeup.

  He left the bathroom and took one last look around the bedroom. He checked the closet, which had two sliding doors. He noticed that the closet was two-thirds filled with women's clothes, and a third filled with men's. The ratio of shoes was much higher than that, with many more women's shoes than men's. Up on top he saw a collection of baseball caps. Two of them had the logo or name of riverboats in the area, the Casino St. Charles, and the Casino Queen. There was a St. Louis Cardinal hat, a hat that said "Highlander" on it, another that said "Sunset Express," and still another from a casino, this one in Vegas, the Luxor. There was also a Chicago Cubs hat, a St. Louis Blues hat, and a hat that said Chicago Police.

  Was Brady's father a cop? A former cop? He'd seen nothing else in the house to indicate this.

  There were shoe boxes on the other part of the top shelf, but he did not go through them. He would have someone do it, though, sometimes people kept a gun in a shoe box.

  He closed the closet and left the room. He walked down the hall, careful not to step in the blood, and found the other bathroom. It, too, was clean, with nothing remarkable in it.

  Just outside the bathroom was a linen closet. He opened it and found it filled with neatly folded towels and sheets, except for one shelf. Here a towel was unfurled, partially hanging down off the shelf, as if one had been snatched from atop it hurriedly. This led him to believe that a towel may have been used to try to staunch the flow of blood. Did the doer change his mind after stabbing her and try to save her? A husband who attacked his wife in a frenzy and then came to his senses might have done this. There were also sheets and pillowcases in the closet, but he couldn't tell if any were missing.

  Keough completed his examination of the house, ending up in the front foyer again. There wasn't much more he could do until the lab boys got there, at which point he'd go through the house again with them, so he went outside.

  Captain Bose and Officer Bennett were both leaning against the car with their arms folded. Some people-passersby, neighbors-had already begun to gather in front of the house.

  Keough walked to the car and both policemen straightened up.

  "What did you find?" Bose asked.

  "Not much," Keough said. "I tried reconstructing the crime scene."

  "How do you do that?" Bennett asked, with obvious interest.

  "You just try to read the evidence, construct a sequence of events."

  "So how does it look to you?"

  "This is preliminary," Keough said, "but I think Brady's mother and father must have had a fight which resulted in the father attacking the mother with a knife while she was in bed. The footprints indicate that she ran out of the room down the hall with him after her. He must have caught her in the front foyer."

  "And the boy?" Bose asked.

  "He either entered the master bedroom before or after. We'll know more when I question him further."

  "Jesus," Bennett said, "you mean he might have seen his father kill his mother?"

  "Maybe," Keough said, "but maybe he only stabbed her." He told them about the towels in the linen closet.

  "Maybe that towel's been hanging there for days," Bennett suggested.

  "That could be," Keough said, "but the house is spotless, with everything in its place. Whether the lady of the house cleaned it herself, or had it cleaned, I don't think that towel would hang that way for very long."

  Bennett shook his head.

  "I don't think I would have thought of all that," he said, admiringly.

  "With some training and experience, you would."

  "That must be why they're giving you the big bucks."

  "Bennett, can you do me a favor?"

  "What's that?" the officer asked.

  "How about seeing if any of these people saw anything? And if so, get their names and addresses. We'll take statements later."

  "Sure," he said. "I can do that."

  "Cap, will you wait here for the lab and those other cars?"

  "Sure," Bose said, "but what are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to start canvassing some of these houses," Keough said, "the ones on this block, and the one behind the house. I want to see if anyone heard any commotion last night or this morning-probably this morning."

  "What about the names of the people who live here?"

  "A check of the deed to the house will give us that, but somebody here might tell us before then."

  "I'll see if I can find out," Bennett said.

  "Thanks."

  Keough started toward a neighbor's house as Bennett approached the crowd and asked, "Anybody know the names of the people who live here?"

  6

  Keough was tempted to stay at the house to instruct the lab crew, but he chose to believe that they would know what they were doing. After all, St. Louis was a major city with a major police department-at least, the city had a major department-which had dealt with crime scenes before. Keough's friend Mark Drucker had warned Keough about coming to the Midwest with a New York attitude. Keough's first reaction had been "What New York attitude?" but he quickly realized that he had done all right so far by listening to what Drucker had to say.

  He'd noticed, of course, that the language was different in St. Louis. Oh, it was English, but while people in New York waited "on" line, in St. Louis they waited "in" line.

  There were other subtle differences, and he noticed many of them while he questioned the neighbors who lived around the Sanders house.

  The first neighbor, to the immediate left, had told him that the Sanders had been living there for about four years.

  "They're real nice people, Mr. and Mrs. Sanders," Mrs. Wilhemina Arnette told him. She was in her sixties, wearing what he'd called a house dress-he didn't know what they called it in St. Louis. "Quiet."

  "Did you hear any noise last night or this morning, Mrs. Arnette?"

  "I told you they were quiet, didn't I?" she asked, peevishly.

  "Yes, ma'am, you did."

  "Then I didn't hear any noise," she said. "I never hear any noise from them. They're nice, quiet, young people."

  "Can you tell me their first names?"

  "Her name is Margaret, I think… or is it Margo? One of those."

  "And him?"

  "He's hardly around," she said, "always working. I don't talk to him at all, only to her to say hello."

  "I see. Well, thanks for your help, Mrs. Arnette."

  "What's happened over there, anyway?"

  "We're not sure, ma'am," he said. "That's what we're trying to find out."

  He left her before she could ask any more questions and went to the neighbor's house on the right. No one answered the door, which didn't necessarily mean that no one was home, but he decided to try again later.

  He was coming back from the second house when he saw a couple of cars pull into the driveway of the Sanders house. Several men were getting out as he approached
them.

  "Who's in charge?" one of them asked. He was carrying a metal case like the one television repair men when they used to come to your house.

  Keough and the captain started to speak at the same time, but Bose was the one who stepped back.

  "I'm Detective Keough. It's my crime scene. This is Captain Bose, of the Richmond Heights Police."

  "What have we got?" the man asked.

  "What's your name?"

  "Kendricks."

  "Are you a crime scene technician, Mr. Kendricks?"

  "I am."

  "How many of you are there?"

  "Three," Kendricks said. "The others are Holman and Carter."

  "All right. I'll take you all inside and show you what we've got. It's not a pretty sight."

  "I don't see a meat wagon," Kendricks said. He looked to be forty or so, perhaps old enough to still use the term meat wagon.

  "No bodies," Keough said, "but a lot of blood."

  "Let's go, then."

  As they walked to the door Keough took out the box of bags again, removed two, and slid them over his hands.

  "Nice touch," Kendricks said. "Are you new?"

  "First day on the job in St. Louis."

  "From where."

  "New York."

  "I thought you were a little old to be a rookie."

  "Far from it."

  Keough and Kendricks entered the house, followed by the other two techs.

  "In case you're wondering," Kendricks said when they were inside, "we know what we're doing."

  "I was going to assume that."

  All three techs put down their "tool boxes," took plastic gloves from their pockets, and slipped them on. Keough noticed that all three men were already sweeping the room with their eyes.

  "How many hot spots?" Kendricks asked.

  "The master bedroom, the hallway leading there, the living room, and this foyer."

  "Right."

  Kendricks quickly turned and split the job among the three technicians. Keough noticed that he took the master bedroom himself.

  "I'm going to go outside and let you hoys do your jobs," Keough said.

  "We appreciate that, Detective," Kendricks said.

  "There's just one other thing," Keough said. "There's a picture frame on the mantel with the photo of a little boy in it. There's blood on the lower right-hand corner of the frame. You might get a good latent."

  "Well take a look at it," Kendricks promised.

  "Fine," Keough said. "Like I said, I'll get out of your way."

  Keough went outside and slipped the sandwich bags off his hands. The first thing he was going to do when this was finished was get himself his own rubber gloves.

  7

  As expected, the area in front of the house became like a circus. Several uniformed officers worked at keeping the crowd back, while a couple of others helped Keough canvass the neighborhood. Ordinarily Keough would have liked to have experienced detectives doing that, but he was forced to work with what he had.

  It was remarkable to him that no one appeared to have heard any commotion. Had the man and woman made it to the front door and not outside? In spite of the fact that there was blood on the doorknob?

  From across the street Keough regarded the house again. When he did he felt stupid. He crossed over and was intercepted by Captain Bose.

  "I've got a message for you, Detective Keough."

  "From who?"

  "Major O'Connell." Keough hadn't met O'Connell yet, but he knew the man was also the assistant chief. "He wants you to come in and brief him on what's going on."

  "That'll have to wait."

  Bose looked incredulous. "What?"

  "There's one more thing I have to do."

  "B-but the chief said as soon as possible."

  "That's what I intend to do," Keough said, "get to him as soon as possible."

  Obviously, Captain Bose had never failed to jump at an order, and would never ignore one.

  "Keough-"

  "Captain," Keough said, "this is my crime scene. Before I can leave it I have to make damn sure it's secure. I'm sure the major will understand that."

  Bose looked confused. Keough felt sorry for the man having to deal with Keough's New York attitude.

  "Uh, should I, uh, radio him and tell him-"

  "Negative," Keough said. "I'll tell him myself when I go in. Okay?"

  "Uh, well, o-kay, I guess…"

  "Just one more thing, Captain," Keough said, "and I'll be done."

  Bose scratched his head and watched Keough approach the front door and go inside the house. He felt rooted to the spot, not sure what to do.

  ***

  Keough entered the house and slid two bags on his hands again.

  "Are you Holman?" he asked the technician on his hands and knees in the foyer.

  "No, sir, I'm Carter," the man said, without looking up.

  "Mr. Carter, has anyone located the garage door?"

  "Sir?"

  "The door that leads from the house into the garage?"

  "Oh, no, sir."

  "I'll find it."

  He started to open a door at hand, and Carter said, "Sir?"

  "Yes?"

  "That's a closet."

  "Oh."

  "In these houses," Carter said, "the door leading to the garage is usually in the kitchen."

  "Thank you, Mr. Holman."

  "Sure."

  Keough worked his way around the man without getting blood on his shoes and walked to the kitchen. From across the street he had spotted the garage and realized that he had not gone inside to check it. Because he'd walked head on into this investigation five minutes into the job, he felt he wasn't thinking straight. He should have checked the garage right after he finished with the house.

  He walked across the spotless kitchen and was faced with two doors. Naturally, the first he opened was a pantry. The second, however, led to the garage.

  "Shit," he said, as he walked through the door.

  There was a small puddle of blood on the floor of the two-car garage. There was also a car there, which surprised him. He expected to find the place empty. Maybe the Sanders had two cars.

  This one was a BMW, a year or two old from the look of it. It was dark green in color. He took a deep breath before walking over to it, fully expecting to find the body of Mrs. Sanders inside. Either in the back seat, or in the trunk.

  The BMW was a two-door model; he tried the door on the driver's side first, and it opened. He stuck his head in and looked at the back seat. Seeing that it was empty, he released the breath he had been holding. As he straightened up he noticed there was some blood on the passenger seat, but not a lot. Certainly not enough for a wounded person to have sat there-unless she had sat there with a towel wrapped tightly around the wound.

  The other possibility was that the blood had been left by Brady's feet. If someone had used this car to drive Brady to the police station, had the other car been used to transport Mrs. Sanders, alive or dead? And if so, were there two drivers? For the first time he considered there might have been two attackers. Both male? Or one male and one female? Did Mr. Sanders have a girlfriend who'd been in on this?

  He withdrew from the car and closed the door. He'd have one of the technicians come out and go over it.

  He looked again at the puddle of blood on the floor. It was approximately where someone might have been standing by the other car, perhaps waiting to get in. How had they gotten out here without leaving any blood in the kitchen?

  He walked around to the back of the BMW. The trunk was tightly shut, and he was going to have to get inside. Once again he felt himself holding his breath. Was Mrs. Sanders in the trunk?

  He went in search of the trunk release so he could find out.

  8

  "I don't want to start having trouble the first day, Keough."

  "Neither do I, sir."

  "When I call for a man to come in from the field," Maj. John O'Connell said, "I expect him to come in
forthwith."

  "I understand that, sir."

  O'Connell was about five ten, wiry, with gray hair and intense eyes. He appeared to be about fifty.

  "Then why was it necessary for me to wait half an hour for you to show up?"

  "Sir," Keough said, "it was necessary for me to secure my crime scene before I could leave it. Normally, I'd be working with a partner. If that was the case I could have left that task to him and come in sooner."

  "Well," O'Connell said, "you don't have a partner, Keough… at least, not yet."

  "I realize that, sir," Keough said. "That's why I couldn't leave-"

  "Detective Keough," O'Connell said, cutting him off, "who is in command here?"

  "You are, sir."

  "Can we keep that firmly in mind as we move forward?"

  "Yes, sir," Keough said. "That's my intention."

  O'Connell sat down behind his desk and heaved a sigh. Keough was not used to being in the presence of a major. It was not a rank that was used in the New York Police Department.

  There was a second man in the room. He was Sgt. Dick Bilcheck. He was wearing a white shirt with his detective's shield pinned to the pocket. He was also under six feet, only just, and looked to be in his midforties. He and Keough had only met a few moments ago, and had gone into Major O'Connell's office.

  "Detective," O'Connell said, with a glance over at Bilcheck, "have a seat and tell us what we've got."

  ***

  Keough ran it down for the major and for his own immediate superior, Sergeant Bilcheck, right up to the point where he opened the trunk, expecting to find Mrs. Sanders inside.

  "Was she there?" O'Connell asked.

  "No," Keough said, "and there was no blood in the trunk. If he drove her from there he did it in another car."

  "But the blood in the front seat."

  "I think it was left by the kid."

  "He used one car to drive the woman, and the other to drive the kid?"

  "It's a theory."

  "So where's the woman? And the car?"